


And the Walls Fall Down

by Paranoxx



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Beginnings, Conflict, F/F, Love, One Shot, Other, Vegebul, emotion, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoxx/pseuds/Paranoxx
Summary: Vegeta and Bulma. There are wounds, cups of noodles and sweet kisses. Just a little look into a day in the life of the best couple in all of manga/anime. Two people that can't stay away from each other, no matter how much better or worse it may be for both of them. Someone has to be brave and willing to get hurt. Or healed. Or both.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs & Vegeta
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	And the Walls Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little 7000+ word one shot I wrote because I wanted to. No lemon and no lime, maybe you'd call if slightly fluffy. I like to imagine the sweet and scary moments between these two people. Don't fret over the timeline, I took a little liberty there from the canon but not really enough to bother anything. I tried to give them a human moment, even if the god of my idolatry doesn't happen to be human. Some people just belong together. Please enjoy.

And the Walls Fall Down

“God’s damn it!” Vegeta yelled at the top of his rather expansive lungs. His own ki blast had hit him in the back. Again.

_ Perhaps I need to stop trying that attack. I keep forgetting how bad that shit hurts. _

The bots that circled him in the GR had, once more, failed to block the ball of energy that he’d fired at them. The GR circled the blast and Vegeta, himself, had failed to take note. As a result, he sat on the floor of his training room with a hole in his back. The urge to just let his body fall over backward was supplanted by the pain and blood that flooded out of the wound.

_ The Woman is going to be pissed. _

He dragged himself off the floor and flipped the switch to power down the GR. At 450x this took a few minutes. By the time he made it to the lower part of the lab and Bulma, Vegeta’s entire backside was covered in blood and he was more annoyed than angry. 

_ Now I see why Kakarot trains in a radish field. Asshole. _

Bulma was in her usual position. Hunched over her keyboard in her white lab coat, a smoking cigarette and a steaming cup of coffee on the desk beside her. 

“I’m bleeding on your flood,” the Saiyan Prince ejected without the slightest preamble or hint of regret for the mess he assumed he was making. 

She didn’t even turn around, “You usually are.”

Vegeta balled his fists and mastered the impulse to put a matching hole in her back. 

“Can you do something about it?”

Bulma hit a few more keys and sighed. She swiveled around in her chair to look at the man in her laboratory with a jaundiced eye. He was disheveled and dressed in nothing but the tattered leftovers of what used to be his armour. He looked irritated and extremely handsome.

“What have you done to yourself this time?” she asked in a tone of boredom. Bulma was in the middle of trying to program an algorithm that would track the Saiyan’s whereabouts on the compound without her having to search the security camera feeds herself. She was sick of losing Vegeta.

He stood in his typical way, arms crossed and scowling. There was, however, a pink tint to his cheeks and his mouth was a little harder than usual. He was in pain. She knew it must have been bad for him to seek her out and so she went toward him.

_ I hate it when she walks. _

Under her lab coat Bulma wasn’t wearing anything that would hide her shapely form. Vegeta watched the way that her hips swayed in the tight, little shorts she wore. 

_ Want to do bad things. _

“Show me,” she said, looking up into his face.

When the Prince failed to move, Bulma put her hands on his hips and gently turned him around. It was best to be gentle when touching him. It was a bit like trying to pet a tiger.

She took a breath at the sight that confronted her. Vegeta had managed to blast a hole in his own back and it went deeper than his skin this time. His bottom and legs were soaked in blood; it was pooling in his white boots. As gross as that was, the burned hole in his skin was worse. Bulma swallowed over the gore that rose in her throat and started to pull Vegeta toward the door. The equipment she needed was in the upper level of the lab. He walked, but the rigidity with which he moved gave her some idea of how much pain he was really in.

Bulma towed Vegeta to the elevator and then up to her medical lab. She knew he would be loath to lie down on the table and let her treat him. So, she led him to a chair and directed him to straddle it. 

“What are you planning to do?” he wanted to know the moment that he was in her chair.

Bulma patted his shoulder. He would let her do whatever she thought was appropriate no matter what she decided. Bulma went to a cupboard and got a patch wrapped in a foil package. She gathered a few more things and pulled up her own chair behind the Prince. 

“The bots could not do this kind of damage. You did this to yourself?” she said, pulling out some gauze and sterile water to clean the blood away.

“Can you skip the alcohol this time?” he returned, ignoring the question. Vegeta was not a fan of the sting. 

Bulma gave a side glance to the bottle of alcohol on the table and made up her mind to ignore it this time. Saiyans did not get infections the same way that humans did, no matter what the injury. 

“This needs a dermal patch,” the Woman said, wiping his skin, “But I think you will heal without scarring for once. You didn’t wait too long to let me treat you, this time.”

Vegeta rested his forehead on his arms and huffed. “My scars are won in battle. There is no reason to avoid them.”

Bulma paused for a moment. It was very obvious that Vegeta truly believed this. His entire back and most of his chest were crisscrossed with the silvery reminders of all the battles he’d been in. The man had been fighting all his life and he had no self-consciousness when it came to the evidence of that. Even his forearms were scarred from the defensive posture he used to keep his face out of the line of fire. He was proud of it. But…

“You are too beautiful to keep marking yourself up,” she said without thinking about it, her hands resuming their work and applying the dermal patch that would serve as both bandage and temporary skin until his own had time to regenerate in the freakishly fast Saiyan way.

Because she was touching him, Bulma felt Vegeta stiffen. She made her touch even more gentle, thinking that she was hurting him. She was right.

“Don’t call me that.” Vegeta said roughly, “I am never that.”

Vegeta had no illusions about the way he looked. He was aware of the way human females looked at him on the rare occasions that he gave them the chance. Bulma herself had called him ‘cute’ when he’d first come back to Earth after the drama on Namek. That had embarrassed him because the Saiyan alien was not versed in the more common terms that Earthlings used. He’d thought she was reminded of something small and soft when she’d used that word to describe him. Given that the average height of a Saiyan warrior was close to 7 feet tall, as was the case with Nappa, Raditz and Vegeta’s own father, the Prince had a bit of a complex about his own height. To compensate he had spent all his adult life being anything but small and soft.

It wasn’t until he had closer contact with Panchi and Tights that he’s come to understand that ‘cute’ was more of a blanket term for someone attractive. Panchi never stopped gushing about his appearance, especially if she happened to come across him just after he’d finished training. There was nothing lascivious in it, she was just outgoing and weird by nature. Tights was the one who had nearly fallen over backward when she’d first seen Vegeta. She had driven him back to the confines of the GR for the remainder of her visit. Bulma’s sister had been drowning in jealousy at the idea of sleeping under the same roof as ‘such a delicious man’. She had also been shameless in her advances. To the point that Vegeta had locked himself inside the training machine and not come back out until she had gone. Tights was much like Bulma; neither of them had filters when it came to the things that spilled out of their mouths. 

_ Vulgar women. _

But that isn’t what bothered Vegeta at the moment. In fact, he rather liked it that Bulma found him attractive. He liked the way she looked at him. 

The word ‘beautiful’ was something different entirely. He’d seen things that were beautiful. The way the sun set over the glorious oceans of Earth, that was beautiful. The enormous Moon in its fullness. The sound of a thunderstorm in the forest when he took the time to be still and experience it. Anything with word ‘buffet’ in the title. There were many things on Earth that he understood as beautiful. He would never put himself or allow anyone else to put him the same category as those things. 

Her hands on his back began to trace the shining lines of his scars. The skin was both less and more sensitive than the rest of his body, it made him shiver when she ran her thin fingers over them. But they were the marks earned from the murder and destruction of millions, or more likely billions, of life forms throughout the galaxy. So many lives taken that he honestly had no idea what the true number might be. 

Vegeta did not feel guilt or even any real remorse over those deaths. They had been the price of his own survival in the most real of ways. It was not, however, compatible with any kind of beauty.

Bulma understood what he meant; she knew him well enough to see it from his point of view. She just didn’t agree with him.

“You still don’t know enough about us humans, Vegeta. To anyone of the opposite sex and quite a few of the one’s on your own team, you are quite beautiful,” she said, matter of fact in tone. She went back to working on the patch, making certain that it covered the burned hole smoothly. 

Vegeta did not speak again until she had changed to the bandaging of the wound. Covering the patch would keep Vegeta from dislodging it. She had no illusions that he would heed any order she might give to curtail his punishing training routines in order to give it time to heal. 

“Why do you people distinguish between teams when it comes to sex?” he asked, changing the subject.

That piqued her interest, “On Vegetasei, you have no problem with men mating with men? Or with women being with other women?” 

Vegeta shifted his weight on the seat, turning his head on his arms. “Why would we?”

Bulma considered. She had no reasonable answer for that, so she spouted the reasons given by the people who did care. “It doesn’t serve the species in terms of propagation. Same sex unions cannot produce children.”

Vegeta made a sound of impatience, “There are what, about 7 billion humans on this planet. Why you do need to make more? Besides, two men or two women can make a child, if it’s a matter of bloodlines, you would just need a donor. Even on Vegetasei we had ways around that.”

_ How unexpectedly progressive.  _

There was nothing in his voice that made Bulma doubt that was exactly how he felt about the subject. No disgust and no judgement. He really sounded as though the matter was of no importance to him. She began to wrap the gauze around his middle section. Another thought occurred to her and in typical Bulma fashion she simply continued with her train of thought. 

“Have you ever been with a man?” she asked and deliberately flattened her palms against the long, ridged muscles of his back to feel his reaction. There was none. 

“You mean mate with one?” he asked in return. Bulma made a noise of agreement. 

“There were many times when Nappa, Raditz and I slept together for comfort and warmth but I am a Prince. Neither of them would dare to touch me.”

Something in his voice was hallow. Bulma taped the end of the gauze down, her work done. But she didn’t want to stop so she wet another bit of cotton batting and continued to wipe away at the blood that remained. 

“Stand up and lean over the chair, Vegeta,” she instructed, “You won’t be able to bathe with this dressing, so I’ll clean the blood off the back of your legs.”

Vegeta sat up but hesitated, “You’ve done enough. I’ll do that myself.” He backed off the chair and stood up, his back to the Woman. Bulma put a hand on his lower back, flexing her fingers.

“If you try to bend that way, you will dislodge the binding. Just suck it up and let me care for you,” she said gently, pushing against his immovable form. She didn’t think he would comply for a long moment, but after a few deep breaths the great Saiyan Prince capitulated and slowly bent at the waist until his head was resting on his folded arms again. 

Bulma choked on her tongue. It had not occurred to her the sight she would be confronted with if Vegeta assumed the position that she’d requested. The remnants of his blue sub-armour was wet with blood and tattered. It would have to come off. There was blood in the white boots. Distressingly, she did not know if he was wearing anything under the mess. Happily, this seemed to occur to the Prince as well.

“If I can’t bend more than this, you’ll have to hold down my boots,” he said, voice muffled by the thickness of his arms. Bulma did as he said, holding the boots by the heel so he could pull his feet out of them. Such dainty feet for a man his size, encased in blood streaked blue neoprene. He hooked his hands into the waist of his uniform and wiggled a little to free his tail, before pushing the ripped fabric down his hips. Under the sub-armour, he was wearing a pair of the small tight shorts he favoured as an undergarment. 

Holding her breath, Bulma pulled the garment down the rest of the way and held it until Vegeta stepped out of it. Grossed out, Bulma tossed it and his boots aside. 

_ Off to the incinerator with that. _

When she looked back up at him, Vegeta had relaxed back onto the chair. This time the smooth skin of the backs of his legs was naked in front of her. As was the black clad, firm and round ass that was impossibly well shaped. She sat back and dipped her cotton into the sterile water, not for a moment taking her eyes off the gorgeous vision so generously offered up to her. His tail switched back and forth over his body, before coming to rest over his left shoulder. 

_ I wonder if he would mind being so totally objectified, if he knew what I am seeing right now. _

Bulma used the wet cotton to wipe away the bloody streaks from the warm skin on the backs of his legs. 

_ Has anyone ever seen a man built like this one? This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.  _

Bulma needed to distract herself. She had spent entirely too much time looking at the curve of Vegeta’s narrow waist, the solid set of his massive legs, the rippled musculature of his stomach. 

“Can I ask you about Saiyan anatomy?” she inquired, clearing the last of the blood from his tanned skin. 

Vegeta flicked his tail once before it rested on his back again, “I’m not a test subject, Woman.”

Bulma smirked. She knew how to push his buttons and engaging him would give her a further excuse to spend time with him. 

“It will help me with configuring ways to make the bots more effective. And better armour. Better ways to heal you until we get more Senzu.”

_ She’s so full of shit. She just wants to look at my ass. _

“Why don’t you use your precious Kakarot, if you need someone to experiment on?” Vegeta sneered, standing up straight and turning to look down at the seated young woman.

Bulma tossed her hair behind her and threw her head back to laugh. Vegeta’s sense of rivalry with her close friend really knew no bounds. But the Prince really knew nothing about Goku personally.

“There is no way that will ever happen, Vegeta. Goku is terrified of needles and doctors in general. He’d sooner die again than ever let me do any of the tests I would need,” she laughed, watching Vegeta’s face as she imparted this totally true information.

He considered. This seemed to confuse Vegeta. 

“What are needles? Why does he fear them? Where can I get some?" he asked, looking at her with his arms crossed over his chest. It made her laugh again. He really hadn’t been on Earth very long and from what Goku and Gohan had told her about the healing pods the Freeza Force used did not employ any kind of intravenous medicine.

Bulma got up and walked away from him, rummaging through a shelf of the glass fronted cupboards that held her medical supplies. She pulled out a syringe and a vial. Vegeta watched her with interest.

The little thing in her hand didn’t look dangerous. It was far too small to do any damage to someone like him. “What does it do?” he asked, taking the tiny, pointed thing from her to examine it. 

Bulma took it back from him and screwed the point into the vial, “It is used to take an sample of your blood.”

The brown, furry tail wrapped itself around his thick neck and Vegeta made a gesture towards the pile of bloody cotton in the water filled basin on the floor.

“Woman, you have plenty of that,” he said in a sardonic tone. 

“Just stay still for a minute. I’ll be quick,” Bulma replied, taking his arm. The veins were fat and would be easy to hit. He didn’t flinch away from her but the muscles under her fingers went rigid. Bulma had to push the point much harder than she would have if the person had been human but the tip of the needle went in and the vial began to fill with dark red blood. Vegeta didn’t move, watching her and what she was doing with a detached curiosity.

_ Humans are very odd. She makes a point of washing this off and then of taking more so she can keep it. Strange little Woman.  _

“If you wanted a piece of me, I could think of better ways,” Vegeta smiled in a strange way once she had pulled the needle out and covered the tiny red mark with a bandaid. Bulma opened her mouth but nothing came out. Vegeta slipped around her and walked out the door, one last glance over his shoulder and the sound of his deep laughter his parting gifts.

Bulma stood without moving until her heart stopped thumping and then she realized she held the warm sample of Saiyan physiology tightly in her hand. She’d been trying to get a sample from Goku for years, but he’d threatened to blow a hole in her lab when she’d come within 10 feet of him with a needle. 

_ Well, at least, I got to see his backside close up. I’ll count this day as a win. _

Vegeta walked back to his chambers, suddenly tired beyond belief. Wounded, exhausted. Dealing with the Woman was just too trying; he wanted rest. Her hands on his body were pleasurable, even when she was hurting him to help him. Her constant talking taxed him in a mental way. The fact that he had not left the moment she’d finished her doctoring made him tired. He’d wanted the excuse to have her touch him again, to hear more of her incessant voice. Her little needle hadn’t hurt him. If she wanted his blood, so be it. It was a small enough thing to give the Woman who gave him so much. It also amused him that Kakarot was actually afraid of the tiny thing. He filed that information away. Kakarot would not be hearing the end of that ridicule anytime in the foreseeable future.

_ If that Woman is going to hold something Saiyan in her hot little hand, I’d really rather it belonged to me. _

That was an aberrant thought and Vegeta walked faster to get away from it. The quiet order of his own rooms was welcome. He went to his sideboard and took out the tablet the Woman had given him. There was music stored in it; he played a melodic piece of violin music while he finished cleaning himself up. 

In deference to the advice of the Woman, Vegeta was careful with the way he moved. The wound on his back had been quite painful until she’d treated it and he did not want to mess up the binding. He changed his underclothes and washed the rest of the blood away. Vegeta did not feel like going back down to the kitchens to raid Panchi’s store of microwave safe leftovers but there was nothing to eat in his chamber. He usually kept food stored there for just such an occasion and was angry with himself that there was nothing left to snack on.

_ Maybe Saiyan's really are gluttons. Fuck. _

The house seemed to be quiet. It was tempting to simply let himself fall into bed and sleep. Very tempting. His body protested that idea in a loud, annoying rumble that made him nauseous. Being injured, he would require calories in order to heal and his body would not really let him rest until he gave it something to fill his empty belly.

_ Annoying! _

Vegeta pulled on a pair of the loose sweatpants he found most comfortable and opened the door to his chamber. There was no sound in the house. The Woman’s mother and father seemed to have retired to their sleeping chamber and even the bots that the family employed to clean the house were quiet. Vegeta padded, barefoot and silent, down the halls that led to the private kitchens. 

A savory scent greeted him most of the way there and he followed it with the unerring senses of a Saiyan. His hunger was such that he missed the other, very attractive, scent under the smell of the food until it was too late, and he’d entered the kitchens and also the sight of the blue haired woman. 

Bulma smiled at the vision of the half-naked man in the doorway. His black eyes raked over her and then a second time. She wasn’t wearing much, just a pair of shorts and a tank top. What he settled on, on the other hand, was the paper cup of ramen in front of her. 

Wisely, Bulma said nothing. She simply stood up and went to the cupboard to retrieve a few more of the cups of noodle soup. She filled them with the hot water simmering in the kettle and put them in the microwave to heat. Her stomach would be filled by one, Vegeta would require more. 

He hadn’t moved. “Sit down and stop brooding. Food will come in a minute,” she ordered and sat back down to eat her own cup of noodles. 

Vegeta went to the refrigerator and pulled out a jug of juice, the red cranberry kind he loved. There was also a clutch of the brown pears he was relatively certain were another of this worlds sweet, grainy treasures. He’d devoured those by the time the ramen was done.

Bulma got back up and pulled the paper cups back out, brought them to Vegeta and placed them on the table in front of him. The smell took hold of the hole in his stomach. Disregarding the heat of the broth, he dove in and begun to eat with the gusto only a starving alien man could muster. 

_ It’s rather fascinating to watch. _

Bulma tipped the cup to her lips and drank the broth, watching Vegeta stuff himself in the same way that a mother would watch a teenage child eat far more food than she could ever hold. His black eyes closed; he ate in a contented sort of bliss that was satisfying to see. Vegeta made little sounds while he ate, a low sound in his throat. His normal stoicism impaired by exhaustion and the joy of alleviated hunger. 

“Thank you, Woman.”

Bulma stared at him. When had he ever thanked her so easily? 

_ Like, never! _

Vegeta swallowed and leveled her with a gaze that made her mouth feel dry. His hair stood on end, as spiked and midnight black as ever, exactly the colour of his eyes. For once his hands, strong and finely tapered, were not covered by his white gloves and when he raised them to temple under his chin, she could see how graceful they were. 

To cover her discomfiture, Bulma took another hot, deep drink of the broth. Vegeta smiled at her for a moment and copied the motion. He seemed so relaxed, so at ease. The set of his shoulders weren’t up around his ears and his winged brows were not drawn low over the darkness of his eyes. Bulma didn’t think she’d ever seen the Prince so unwound.

He put her off further with the next thing to come out of his mouth. 

“You healed my wound. You gave me delicious paper cup food. And you smell good,” he yawned and drank the broth from one of the cups in one long draught. 

“Are you drunk?” Bulma inquired carefully, unsure what to do with Vegeta.

“That horrific drink made from rotten fruit and grain again? No,” he yawned again and stretched out both his arms. It was a pretty sight.

Bulma sat still and just took in the inhuman way that Vegeta could eat when he wanted to fill himself. He steadily went through the cup until the last of the broth was gone. Vegeta stacked the cups and dropped the lot in the trash compactor with a sigh of fulfillment. He downed the last of the red juice. She was surprised to see that his stomach was no different even with all the food now stored in it. 

“You said you care for me.” Vegeta appeared very oddly off guard. He never let down the walls he used to guard himself, but they were strangely absent at the moment. 

She walked around the table and drew near enough to him to feel the heat coming off his body like sunlight. 

“I do care for you,” she murmured, wanting to push the thick hair out of his face. 

The man simply stared at her for a long moment. He had the most vulnerable look on his hard face, an unaccountable softness in his eyes. One hand, open and relaxed, came up from his side. Vegeta moved very slowly.

Bulma could not fathom his purpose and hardly dared hope he would actually touch her. But he did. Calloused fingers cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the roundness. Bulma closed her eyes, savouring the gentle touch. 

The Woman was very soft, very feminine. She smelled good and her skin was warm. Vegeta touched the unmarred skin as gently as he could, fascinated by the texture of her. When she closed her eyes, his own gaze dropped to her mouth. Her dark pink lips were parted. On impulse he ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, curious as to the way it would feel. 

Bulma sighed against his hand and the sensation of her breath rushing out over his skin had a painfully physical effect on the Prince. His finely honed and trained body rebelled against his mind, the latter telling him to run, the former telling him to do anything else. 

Bulma could feel the tension rolling off the conflicted Saiyan. She wanted, almost to the point of desperation, to lean forward and kiss Vegeta. The yearning for the touch of his mouth made her belly tighten and her lips swell. But she was afraid if she tried to initiate anything that intimate, he would spook. 

Bulma wasn’t wrong. If she’d moved, Vegeta would have bolted. Since she didn’t, Vegeta lifted his other hand and ran his fingers into her blue hair. It was heavy and smooth, like strands of silk. He very rarely had ever had the instance to touch another person with his bare hands and found the experience exhilarating in a quiet, personal way. 

The man jumped. The tip of a pink pointed tongue had slipped out to lick the tip of his thumb. It was an invitation and that scared the hell out the acerbic Prince. As did his reaction to it. Vegeta found that he was shaking. The tiny tremors ran under his skin the way they would if he were very cold. He was losing control.

_ I want to lose control. _

All at once, he gave in. One moment he was holding her face, his eyes taking in the details of her pretty mouth. The next his arms contracted, and he brought his body flush up against her. Bulma automatically slid her hands around his waist, under his sensitive tail and then ran them upwards to avoid the freshly bandaged wound.

She opened her eyes and looked into the intensity that stared back at her from five inches. Vegeta’s eyes were half closed and glittering. Bulma had never wanted to taste a man’s mouth as much as she wanted his. Perhaps, never wanted anything so much.

He moved his head, coming closer and she closed her eyes again, waiting without breathing.

_ Please... oh please, please… _

Vegeta could feel the living warmth of her mouth on his lips, so close. He hovered there, frozen by a kind of fear he had no idea how to deal with. He wasn’t even certain how to describe it to himself. He’d been injured and the surge of adrenaline and testosterone that went with that was affecting his mind. He knew that. It always happened. 

What he didn’t know was how he would feel about what he was about to do afterward. It was too complicated to dissect in his current state of mind and physical arousal. He couldn’t trust himself. And he didn’t trust Bulma. He couldn’t understand her at all. She seemed very willing; he could smell the desire on her. But…

_ I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! _

“I can’t.”

Bulma felt Vegeta release her and wretch himself away from her grasp faster that she could react. Her eyes flew open in time to see him flash seemingly out of existence. He’d used his speed to move faster than she could see. He’d run from her.

_ Damn it all to the seven Hells! _

Bulma balled her fists and screwed her mouth shut to keep from screaming. 

_ What the fuck is wrong with the man? Why can’t he just let go of whatever god’s damned damage and- _

Her furious thoughts were interrupted by a strange kind of vibration in the air. It blew through the house like a blast of wind and hit Bulma in the chest the way lightning does when it hits too close. She’d felt the sensation before.

The Woman ran through the house and up the stairs. In the corridor that led to the sleeping chambers she encountered the yellow light she knew she would find. 

Afraid but determined, Bulma approached the open door to Vegeta’s room. There he was, facing the window, about 6 inches off the floor, glowing like a golden god. 

“Vegeta.”

He heard the soft call and turned in mid-air, leveling a turquoise stare at the little woman who stood in his doorway. Her hair swirled around her face, which held an expression of wary trepidation. Fear.

_ Good, Woman, you should fear me. _

“Go.” His voice had the growling double timbre of a Super Saiyan, and the word made Bulma flinch. When he lowered himself to the floor and took an incredibly menacing step toward her, the young Woman almost fled. Vegeta was terrifying in his golden form, larger and so very not human. The power pouring out of him pushed against her and beat in her veins like a second heart. Even the look on his face was enough to make her blood run cold. Eyes a frozen aqua below severe and drawn yellow brows, his sensual mouth a pencil thin frown… Vegeta looked murderous. Evil.

Bulma pressed her body into the room and closed the door behind her, watching the Prince’s frown deepen to match the lines that appeared between his sweeping eyebrows.

“I don’t like you in that form,” she whispered, unable to make her voice any louder. He smirked, tilting his head back to glare down the arrow straight line of his aristocratic nose.

“I _said_ , GO!” he ordered, his voice soft and malevolent. The force of his dizzying aura increased, brighter and more violent. Vegeta wanted her to leave him. He wanted to frighten her until the instinct for self-preservation that all humans had convinced her to stay away. He didn’t want the complicated emotions that she caused or the unhinged confusion that came with them. He didn’t want to _feel._

But she wasn’t leaving. She wasn’t cowering. She was walking, one tiny step at a time closer to him. Vegeta let his anger manifest in the form of a blue ball of ki, which he held out in his right hand. It wouldn’t kill her yet, but it would hurt like hell and she would never forget that.

“I don’t believe that you will hurt me, Vegeta.”

“You are a very stupid Woman.”

Looking at Vegeta, Bulma couldn’t help but see the beautiful man inside the rage. Only minutes before, he’d been so tender. So close to giving into what she felt they both wanted. Bulma had always found him extremely attractive. But she wanted more than only the pleasure of his body. She wanted more of the gentle Prince. Vegeta had nothing but loathing for weakness; she was determined to show him none. Bulma was, in her own way, just as head-strong and just as stubborn as he was. It would take more than threats to dissuade her once she’d set herself on a course she wanted to follow.

“You’re afraid of me,” she said, raising her voice, “What does that make you?”

Vegeta growled, the sound tearing out him like the warning a predator might give before eviscerating its prey. 

“A monster. A murderer. A Saiyan!” Vegeta cried and he lifted the ki ball, which grew larger and more illuminated, tensing with the fury that rolled through him. 

_ I don’t want to do this. _

“You dare-“he cried but the words died in his throat as Bulma opened her arms to expose her chest. She stood not three feet from a Super Saiyan holding a now possibly fatal energy attack. The Woman quaked visibly in her fear. But her blue eyes were as hard and clear as crystal and she did not back down.

“Do it, Vegeta, if that’s what you need!” Bulma screamed, her hair a seething nimbus around her. She stepped closer to him; fragile limbs extended. 

Vegeta moved. His upturned palm swung forward towards the Woman and he turned it to face her. He was fast but intentionally moved slow enough that she could see him move to slam the deadly ball into the center of her chest. 

_ Fuck, Woman! Move! _

Bulma bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut, accepting whatever fate the Prince decided to inflict on her. The fatal blow did not come. Instead, a burning heat soaked into her breasts and exposed neck. She waited for several long, shaking breaths before she dared to open her eyes. The blue ball, promising pain, was only a couple of inches away from her chest, backed by Vegeta’s palm.

Bulma raised her head to see his face. Vegeta was panting, his expression unfathomable, blonde hair waving in the updraft of his aura. She had to squint at the overpowering light that surrounded him, at the force trying to push her away. 

Bulma reached forward with her left hand. She wrapped her hand around Vegeta’s naked wrist. Touching his skin was rather like trying to hold onto something that was on fire. Ignoring the burning pain of contact, Bulma pushed his hand and the ki ball away from her body. 

Vegeta couldn’t take his eyes of the hand holding his wrist. Never, in all his life, in all the fights he’d been in had anyone dared to attempt what the Woman was successfully doing at that moment. She pushed his hand away from her and down to his side, her grip firm even though he was aware that the ki ball had to be burning her. 

_ Burning her. Burning me. _

The Prince closed his fist around the ball. He looked back at Bulma. She was calm, as though the pain had made the fear fade away. Without letting him go, the crazy Woman took the final step closer to him. Right into his aura. 

_ Heat. _

“Step away. I know this hurts you,” Vegeta murmured, face tipped down. 

“No.” Her skin was red.

_ I have no idea what to do… _

Bulma let the fire of the Saiyan burn her, let it sink into her skin. She reached for him, up to rest her right hand against the back of his neck. Astonished, Vegeta tried to step backward but that only accomplished dragging Bulma with him.

“What are you?” he demanded, shocked by her irrational and self-injurious, frankly insane behaviour. So great was his surprise and disbelief at what she was doing that tearing her hands off him did not occur to him.

What did occur to him was that the ends of her hair were starting to singe. Her eyes teared up from the heat, but she still did not relent.

“I am someone who cares for you,” replied the mental little Woman.

_ What the FUCK AM I DOING?! _

Vegeta drew his ki inward with all his might. He concentrated the burning power into the center of his chest, an inferno around his pounding heart. It was incredibly painful, excruciating in fact. He couldn’t move for fear of it escaping his control, not even to remove her hands from his wrist and neck. His aura died down until it was just the most gentle of glows over the surface of his skin. His eyes darkened, as did his hair. With great effort he consumed the mighty power, swallowing it like great draughts of boiling water. 

Bulma could breathe again. She gasped for air, not daring to look away from Vegeta. She saw the awesome transformation reverse itself and what it cost him to do it the way he was. She’d seen him revert to his natural form before. The power exploded outward from his body, dissipating into the air, on those occasions. Drawing it into himself was hurting him, badly. And he was doing it for her.

Slowly, the great Prince’s hair faded into the lustrous jet black that matched his large onyx eyes. Before he could gather himself to move, Bulma released his wrist and slid that hand around his neck. She couldn’t help herself from sagging a little, weakened slightly from the resolve it had taken to withstand the ordeal of trying to hold on to a living sun.

He felt her hands tighten on his neck, holding herself up and against him. Instantly, Vegeta clamped his hands on her waist to support her. Her skin was almost as hot as his, flushed. He lifted her, not letting her fall.

It was enough. Bulma pulled herself up, simultaneously pulling Vegeta down and kissed him. She pressed her mouth against his lips with all the feeling pent up inside her but as soft and sweet as a virgin. The man’s hands locked tight, bringing her up higher so that her feet no longer touched the floor and he kissed her back.

Kissing Vegeta was very unlike kissing anyone Bulma had ever known. He had no preconceived ideas of what a kiss should be. He did not try to dominate or take anything from her. Instead, he moved in response to her as a perfect partner in a dance. His mouth was far more giving than she could have imagined. When the Woman let the tip of her tongue run over his lips, Vegeta immediately returned the gesture, a breathless moan in his throat. 

Vegeta lost himself. The fire in his chest was no less hot for being of a different cause. The Woman in his hands felt like absolutely nothing he’d ever known. Her plump lips parted, drawing his tongue in when he ran it over them, she sucked the tip. He was going to hurt her if he kept holding her the way he was. Vegeta backed up until the edge of the bed was against his knees and sliding his grip down to her legs, pulled them up around his waist. He sat down, using his tail to hold her in place so he could thread his fingers into her hair. 

Bulma spread her legs and settled on Vegeta’s lap with gratitude. Much more of his incomparable body was available for the exploring if she was relieved of the need to hold herself up. His hands in her hair were perfect, it felt good and right. She caressed his tongue, loving the smoothness in her mouth and the sound he made when she suckled it. After a time, he began to explore the inside of her mouth on his own, much to her joy and then drew her tongue out so that she could taste him. 

It was passion but without any sense of haste or demanding. A give and take shared equally. It was a very long time before they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.

Vegeta did not want to let her go. Bulma did not want to be let go. This, whatever it was, was too new and too right to let it escape. Vegeta let the wall inside him burn away, finally, consumed by the blaze set by the human Woman clinging to him. Bulma decided that the difficult and damaged Prince was worth the effort it would take to heal him. 

“I will try,” Vegeta promised against her mouth, “I can’t give you any more than that. I have no idea how to be what you want me to be.”

Bulma brushed another kiss over his lips, no more than butterfly wings. “Be what you are, Vegeta. Be the man I have come to care for, that’s all I ask,” she said back, just as quietly.

He held her head as if the most delicate thing in the world lay in his immensely strong hands, tipping it back so he could look into her blue eyes. 

“That is what it feels like to be cared for?” he asked, perfectly solemn.

Bulma nodded, the most fleeting of smiles flitting across her face. There was much more that she would give to this Prince, but there was all the time in the world for that.

“Will you care for me again, then?” he was so innocently intent. This was the man inside the warrior, the real soul behind the façade and he was right there with her. It was exactly what she wanted. 

“In everyway I know how.” And Bulma kissed Vegeta again, and again. And again.

**Author's Note:**

> I very much hope you liked it and thank you for taking your time to read it. PS, since I think I am supposed to say this... I own  
> nothing. I do love them and that is all I can claim.


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